He took me to the Count de Gauvon, Master of the Horse to the Queen, and Chief of the illustrious House of Solar.  The air of dignity conspicuous in this respectable old man, rendered the affability with which he received me yet more interesting.  He questioned me with evident interest, and I replied with sincerity.  He then told the Count de la Roque, that my features were agreeable, and promised intellect, which he believed I was not deficient in; but that was not enough, and time must show the rest; after which, turning to me, he said, “Child, almost all situations are attended with difficulties in the beginning; yours, however, shall not have too great a portion of them; be prudent, and endeavor to please everyone, that will be almost your only employment; for the rest fear nothing, you shall be taken care of.”  Immediately after he went to the Marchioness de Breil, his daughter-in-law, to whom he presented me, and then to the Abbe de Gauvon, his son.  I was elated with this beginning, as I knew enough of the world already to conclude, that so much ceremony is not generally used at the reception of a footman.  In fact, I was not treated like one.  I dined at the steward’s table; did not wear a livery; and the Count de Favria (a giddy youth) having commanded me to get behind his coach, his grandfather ordered that I should get behind no coach, nor follow any one out of the house.  Meantime, I waited at table, and did, within doors, the business of a footman; but I did it, as it were, of my own free will, without being appointed to any particular service; and except writing some letters, which were dictated to me, and cutting out some ornaments for the Count de Favria, I was almost the absolute master of my time.  This trial of my discretion, which I did not then perceive, was certainly very dangerous, and not very humane; for in this state of idleness I might have contracted vices which I should not otherwise have given into.  Fortunately, it did not produce that effect; my memory retained the lessons of M. Gaime, they had made an impression on my heart, and I sometimes escaped from the house of my patron to obtain a repetition of them.  I believe those who saw me going out, apparently by stealth, had no conception of my business.  Nothing could be more prudent than the advice he gave me respecting my conduct.  My beginning was admirable; so much attention, assiduity, and zeal, had charmed everyone.  The Abby Gaime advised me to moderate this first ardor, lest I should relax, and that relaxation should be considered as neglect.  “Your setting out,” said he, “is the rule of what will be expected of you; endeavor gradually to increase your attentions, but be cautious how you diminish them.”